Condensation
by planet p
Summary: Another Bobby and Emily meet fic, this time set in 1976.
1. Chapter 1

**Condensation** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own the Pretender or any of its characters.

**Author's Notes** Could be taken as AU. I had written this as part of a story, but it had been unfinished, and it had kind of sucked, to be honest, so I decided to just post this because it made me smile, even if it was a little strange.

1976: Emily and Bobby meet.

* * *

She was seven. They had gone to the pub for a counter lunch. Emily sipped her Coke with her special straw she had gotten from McDonald's for her birthday. The glass was slippery and beads of water ran down the glass over her hands. It was because of the cold and the heat, or rather the difference. See, when the hot air met the cold on the glass from the drink, it got cold too, and when gas got cold enough, it turned to liquid, and everyone knew that there was water in the air, it was just vapour, was all.

Emily listened to some old men talking about their local sports teams. She wanted to tell her momma about the con-de-sai-shing, but her momma was on the phone to someone who weren't poppa. Her momma had somethin' diff'rent 'bout her voice when it was pop who was on the line.

Emily left her drink and went to look at the jukebox. It played all sorts and she liked pressing the buttons. Nothing ever happened, of course. You had to have coins. And she didn't have no coins. Harmony watched her from across the room and wished she'd some coins to give the little one.

Emily was busy reading all the song titles, trying to pick out which one she would play if she had some coins of her very own, thinking that maybe then her prince would come and they could dance until midnight when the magic wore off and he was just dreaming and thin air again. But the song didn't last for so long, and her bedtime was before then, so it would never have worked anyhow. When she grew up, then she would see about princes and dragons and damsels in distress.

"Oh hey doll, ain't you just the prerttiest liddle thang, now?"

Emily spun around and stared up at the boy, crossing her arms. "Liddle? I am not little! An' who are you callin' priddy?"

The boy laughed and scruffed up her hair.

Emily slapped his hand away. "I arksed who you is callin' priddy?" she reiterated stubbornly.

"Prerdy, hey?" the boy asked. "Well I don' know who I'd be goin' on sayin' such a damned silly thang to." He turned on the spot and shrugged. "Well, damn me, 'ere's me, seein' thangs now. I ought just go off and ask Father – well, I cain't just remember 'is name – but I'll ask all the same, if tha's all the same to you, puddin'. Got bad spirits in me, makin' me see thangs that ain't just rightly there. Very bad business that. Very very bad. Yes, siree. Not good at all."

Emily glowered.

The boy laughed again and moved around the little girl to put a coin in the machine. "'Ows about you pick us a song and we calls it even?" he proposed, grinning as though he thought himself mighty clever.

"Even?" Emily chewed her lip, her eyes darting to the pretty flashing lights. After a moment she turned back to the boy. "Any song I like?"

The boy shook his head. "Any song at all, so long i's in there, and you can play it."

Emily scrunched up her nose. He was confusing. The little girl scratched the insect bites on her right arm and frowned concertedly. Stretching out the arm she had previously been scratching, she pointed out her selection. The song title read: Run, Run, Run.

"Well go on an' press the button," the boy prompted. "It ain't gonna swalla ya, ya too short."

Emily bit her lip and spent some time figuring out how exactly to get the machine to play that exact song, before pressing the button. She jumped back as the music started and smiled magnificently. The boy shook his head at the miraculous look on the little girl's face. Then he smiled. P'r'aps later he could explain to her how the machine worked.

"T you like this song then?" he asked.

Emily shrugged. "I ain't never heard it be-fore."

"You ain't?"

Emily nodded. "That's right. Never, I said."

The boy smiled. "You're a right silly thang."

Emily grumbled. "No I ain't!" she countered.

"Well, now, yes you is."

"I ain't the one with bad spirits makin' me see things that ain't just right!"

The boy laughed. "You're a funny girl, you are, ya know?"

Emily put on her best scowl. "You fixin' for a slap?"

The boy burst into all out giggles. Emily backed away, slightly afraid. "'Ows about you pick anovver song, doll?"

Emily snatched the coin off the teen and slotted the coin into the machine.

* * *

_I like jukeboxes, I think. I've even played a song on one once._ _Anyway, I just thought the bumpkin thing was cute, even though I don't know how people who live in Nebraska talk, so if you live in Nebraska, I'm sorry, I've never been (I live in Australia, and I've never been overseas); feel free to tell me off._

_As always, your thoughts, suggestions, questions, and comments are appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

**Condensation** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _the Pretender_ or any of its characters.

* * *

_For katescats,_

_Thanks for the reviews!_

* * *

"How old are you?" Emily asked the boy. "I'm seven," she supplied.

"Sixteen," the boy replied, frowning as though mentally calculating his age, to be sure he was right.

Emily frowned too. "Why do you talk funny?" she asked.

The boy tucked some of his hair behind his ear with his left hand. "It was a dumb dare," he explained, and she noticed that he sounded different, "cos I'm dumb." He smiled for a moment, but when he saw Emily staring at him, he stopped.

Emily looked away from him and looked around at the other people in the hotel lounge and the bar. She watched the barman behind the bar for a while until she noticed two people talking. She couldn't understand what they were saying but she knew that they were talking in another language, and that there were more languages than just the one that she spoke.

She made a face and turned back to the boy, who was looking somewhere else. "My momma says that if people want to live in this country then they should speak what we speak," she said loudly, "they shouldn't speak other things."

The boy turned to her and frowned. "I'm sorry, sweetheart?"

"My momma says that if people want to live in this country then they should speak what we speak!" she said, raising her voice again, so that she was almost shouting. "They shouldn't speak other things!"

"I shouldn't think that it matters a terrible lot," the boy told her.

Emily crossed her arms. She thought it mattered, and so did her momma.

"When you die, you don't speak languages, you speak in different shades of love," the boy said. "In true love, and confused love, and hurtful love, and unfair love, and difficult love, and glowing love, and ignorant love, and disheartened love, and failed love, and unbeknownst love, and unrequited love, and faithful love, and secret love, and secretive love, and passionate love-" Emily made a face at that, "and burning love, and forsaken love, and youthful love, and dependable love, and tired love, and strong love, and uncertain love, and you-think-it-is-but-maybe-it-isn't-so-much love, and just love." He sighed. "Languages don't define who you are. But everyone's got love. Maybe," he smiled, "maybe some of 'em jus' don't know it."

"You're weird," Emily told the boy, who smiled a bit more.

"Yeah," he admitted. "A bit."

Emily frowned, thinking hard. "Do you think, when my momma and pop die, then they'll be allowed to love each other again?" she asked the boy.

She thought he might, but he didn't look away from her, and said: "I'm sure your momma and pop love each other very much now."

Emily made a face. She didn't think so. If her momma and pop loved each other, then her pop would come back to her momma and her and Harmony and they could all be a family, like all of the other families.

"Hey, you wanna play another song?" the boy asked.

Emily stared at him in an almost glare.

The boy offered her some coins. "When I get sad, do you know what I like to listen to?" he asked.

Emily shook her head.

The boy smiled. "I like to listen to Elvis Presley. Do you know who Elvis Presley is?"

Emily nodded. How could she not know who Elvis Presley was?

She took the coins from the boy and put them in the jukebox and they listened to Elvis Presley – the boy sung along, she was very embarrassed – and she forgot all about being sad at all.

* * *

_What Margaret said is very different to what Emily heard and repeated._

_If you've ever known any children – or remember being a child yourself – you'll know that children can very easily take what you've said and make it sound like something else if you don't explain to them properly what you did mean when you said what you said._

_They don't do it on purpose, it's just what happens because they're children and they don't always take into account or think about the things that adults think about._


End file.
